Top 20 Films of 2018

November

These are my favorite films from 2018. I'm trying to get caught up to the present day (late 2019) as this year has felt pretty dry, but I'm excited for the rush of good films that come out in the final months.

As always, counting down to #1. Perhaps I'll do descriptions at a future date.

20. On Body and Soul (Hungary, Ildiko Enyedi)
19. First Reformed (USA, Paul Schrader)
18. A Simple Favor (USA, Paul Feig)
17. Happy as Lazzaro (Italy, Alice Rohrwacher)
16. Widows (UK, Steve McQueen)
15. Beats Per Minute (France, Robin Campillo)
14. Sorry to Bother You (USA, Boots Riley)
13. Annihilation (USA, Alex Garland)
12. Burning (South Korea, Lee Chang-dong)
11. BlackKklansman (USA, Spike Lee)
10. First Man (USA, Damien Chazelle)
9. Sweet Country (Australia, Warwick Thornton)
8. A Quiet Place (USA, John Krasinski)
7. Leave No Trace (USA, Debra Granik)
6. The Favorite (UK, Yorgos Lanthimos)
5. November (Estonia, Rainer Sarnet)
4. Roma (Mexico, Alfonso Cuaron)
3. Hereditary (USA, Ari Aster)
2. A Star Is Born (USA, Bradley Cooper)
1. The Tale (USA, Jennifer Fox)

Runners-Up: Mission Impossible - Fallout, Searching, Mandy, You Were Never Really Here, A Fantastic Woman, The Shoplifters, Blindspotting, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Loveless, Foxtrot, Upgrade, The Hate U Give, Vice, The Death of Stalin, Revenge, Support the Girls, Spider-man: Into the Spiderverse, Capernaum

Overall: I might be in the minority, but I think 2018 was a great year for films! It was hard to cut off the runners-up list there were so many more I could have included. Two surprise actors-turned-directors made my top 20. Women had a solid showing. Almost every genre had something worth seeing. Some of this got overshadowed by easily the worst nominee winning the best picture Oscar. And while a politically dark time, Obama's impressively eclectic best-of-the-year list reminded me of better days.

I liked Estonia's gorgeous and original folktale-fantasy-horror November so much and it was so under-recognized that I've used only screenshots from it for this post. But other than that, I think I missed a lot of the more obscure and foreign films from 2018. Any recommendations?

Film Atlas (Mexico): Godfather Mendoza

Mendoza on the right.

Country: Mexico

Title: Godfather Mendoza / El Compadre Mendoza (1933)

Set in the Mexican Revolution of the 1910s, Godfather Mendoza is a love triangle about a pudgy double-dealing landowner, his beautiful young wife and the dashing revolutionary soldier she falls in love with. Though it may sound schematic, one thing, among many, that makes this film intriguing is that the story is told from the perspective of Rosalio Mendoza, the landowner, who turns out to be infinitely more interesting than the attractive, morally-upright and politically-sympathetic couple whose romance he obstructs.

The silver-tongued Mendoza (Alfredo del Diestro) sells guns to the left, quarters soldiers for the right and hosts feasts for both sides when they pass through, always managing to squeak by with his life and a little profit. His neighbors fare less well, allowing him to negotiate a charming bride, Delores, by bailing out a desperate father. The wedding is interrupted by a particularly cutthroat band of revolutionaries intent on murder, rape and plunder, but an old friend, Felipe Nieto, intervenes on Rosalio’s behalf and saves his life. Felipe becomes a regular at Mendoza’s hacienda, a trusted family friend and godfather to Rosalio and Delores’s child. Over time Delores and Felipe fall in love. They remain chaste, but Rosalio senses the tension and is frustrated and hurt. As the fighting intensifies his position becomes harder and his decisions too, especially after the Federales offer him safety in exchange for betraying Felipe.

Made little over a decade after the end of the war, Godfather Mendoza demonstrated a level of moral and political subtlety unprecedented in Mexican cinema. Though still technically walking the pro-revolution party line of its era, the compassion for and insight into Mendoza anchors the story. His anguished conscience echoes Hans Beckert in ‘M’ (1931), but with his worst nature linked to class self-interest rather than perverse compulsion. Delores and Felipe, more traditional types, must also make tough choices between friendship and loyalty or love and desire. Rounding things out are a pair of memorable servants: Antenogenes, whose job it is to hang the correct portrait when guests are received (Zapata or Huerta and later Carranza), and Maria, a mute housekeeper who silently judges Rosalio (her ability to lip-read provides a scene Kubrick borrowed for ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’).

The film is directed by Fernando de Fuentes. Though neglected today, he’d be my pick for Mexico’s greatest native-born director. I couldn’t decide whether to review this or the badly damaged final installment of his Revolution Triology, ‘Let’s Go with Pancho Villa’, in which six friends join Villa’s army. Dubbed The Lions of San Pablo, they die one by one, at first as heroes (and for the first half of the film you could be forgiven for thinking this was jingoistic propaganda) but later as increasingly expendable pawns. The film is notable for its gradually introduced disillusionment, culminating in an absolutely devastating ending. 40 years after it was released, a final reel was discovered that revealed an even darker conclusion (presumably too dark for audiences to stomach in 1930s) that I’d argue ranks amongst cinema’s most definitive anti-war statement. I like Let's Go with Pancho Villa so much I may write a second separate review.

My Favorites:

El Topo

Pan's Labyrinth

The Holy Mountain

Let's Go with Pancho Villa
Enamorada
Godfather Mendoza
Aventurera

The Exterminating Angel

Amores Perros

The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz
Silent Light

Macario

Biutiful
Midaq Alley

Hell Without Limits

Major Directors:
Alfonso Cuaron, Emilio Fernández, Fernando de Fuentes, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Guillermo del Toro

Review of The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz

While coming up with candidates for the character meme a little bit ago, it struck me that Bunuel movies came to mind quicker than expected (“Belle de Jour,” “The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz” and the recently Criterionized “Simon of the Desert” amongst others). After all, Luis Bunuel isn’t exactly what I would call a character-driven storyteller in the traditional sense, but maybe his non-traditional approach is what makes his work all the more memorable.

Bunuel doesn’t round out his characters with the type of psychological realism that explains all their actions and makes them seem like real, rational people. He often leaves motivation ambiguous and behavior erratic (“The Young and the Damned,” “Belle de Jour,” “This Strange Passion”) or uses characters as primarily symbolic vessels (his early shorts, “The Exterminating Angel,” “Phantom of Liberty,” “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie”). In extreme cases like “That Obscure Object of Desire,” he managed to do both, undermining familiar notions of character access and identification by casting two actresses in the role of the fickle female lead.

But what makes Bunuel’s characters so great is that when he chooses to get inside their head, he literally brings their mind to life. His ability to plumb the depths of repression, fantasy and fixation and then visualize it on film is amazing. It made for characters that may make little sense within our everyday reality, but which fit logically into an often nightmarish neighboring surreality whose very contrast forced viewers to think about conventions, institutions and personal habits that Bunuel felt were too easily accepted or outright wrong. Sometimes this led to controversy, sometimes to laughter, and often to both.

One of my favorite Bunuel characters, to whom I was only recently introduced, is Archibaldo de la Cruz (Ernesto Alonso) of the ironically-titled “The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz” (1955). Like many men in Bunuel films, his dominant trait is an unhealthy sexual obsession, in this case merged with a murderous compulsion. Archibaldo believes himself to be a serial killer, and very early in the film he turns himself in and confesses as such, but luck (good? bad? tough to tell…) has condemned him to innocence.

[Image: Archibaldo with razor.]

As a spoiled rich kid during the Mexican revolution, Archibaldo was reluctantly raised by a pretty governess with whom he frequently clashed. One day his parents give him a music box and the governess tells him a fairy-tale about how the original owner could play the tune and then strike enemies dead through thought alone. As she speaks, Archibaldo opens the music box and a stray gunshot from the fighting outside snuffs out her life. Archibaldo is thereafter convinced that he is a cold-blooded killer, a fixation confirmed by a string of similarly fatal coincidences throughout his life.

Archibaldo oscillates humorously between wanting to satisfy his criminal and sexual desires and wanting salvation from them. He sees women merely as a means to gratification or redemption and he pursues stunning beauties towards both ends, but without satisfaction. They step on his pride, he vows revenge, and they inevitably die before he can kill them.

Archibaldo still blames himself for their deaths, and so he’s plagued with ever mounting guilt. He remains blind to his true crimes, pride and selfishness, and ultimately lacks remorse. Bunuel, who never fails to get the last laugh, flaunts the legal verdict as equivalent to moral one, rewarding Archibaldo with a happy ending that implies the possibility of an unearned romance.

The irony is not merely that Archibaldo thinks he’s a killer and isn’t. It’s also that society thinks he’s an upstanding citizen and he isn’t. The local clergy, the government and the social elite all pat him on the back and hold him up as an exemplary member of the community. What’s especially subversive is that they continue to hold their high opinion of him even after he’s confessed what a troubled, volatile and dangerous person he is under the façade. Society is shown to be absolutely complicit in Archibaldo’s misguided honor system and to care little for anything but outward appearances and deference to decorum. (In some ways, I’m reminded of the critique of superficiality in “American Psycho.”)

[Image: Few people dream about their wedding nights in quite the same way as Archibaldo.]

“The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz” has fewer of Bunuel signature surrealist sequences than some of his better known works. There are several scenes where we see Archibaldo carry out murderous plots (which are often symbolically loaded and a little weird), which we later discover take place only in his imagination. These scenes are absent the non-sequitur cuts and freeform imagery of dream sequences, as Bunuel intentionally makes them disturbingly indistinguishable from reality.

The only exception is a fantasy that takes place in a featureless fog, perhaps a way to show how absorbed Archibaldo becomes when overcome by his compulsions. Perhaps my favorite surreal touch is the music box tune that rises unbidden in Archibaldo’s mind and sounds like its off-key, slow-motion and underwater.

[Image: The victim in one of Archibaldo’s pitch black visions of imagined murder, serving milk. Our puritanical hero is fond of saying “I don’t touch alcohol.”]

I suspect that Bunuel was managing to fit enough of his satire into the literal narrative that he didn’t feel the need for as many of fantastical digressions. Indeed, the film works pretty well as both comedy and thriller in a way less jarring (if less exciting) than his more eccentric work.

[Image: Years later, the music box rediscovered!]

The black and white cinematography is highly polished, demonstrating a higher budget than Bunuel had managed prior to the 1950’s. Like “This Strange Passion” (1953) before, “The Criminal Life…” makes heavy use of architecture (though less Dali-esque here), particularly Archibaldo’s cavernous estate and the ritzy nightclubs and gambling joints that he frequents. In keeping with his inability to form sincere human relationships, Archibaldo is defined largely by setting and inanimate objects. The luxuries that surround him in his mansion, his tailored suits and his sports car mark his as a member of the wealthy elite, but his music box, razorblade and a manikin replica of one of his intended victims all give physical expression to his warped perspective.

[Images: Archibaldo, torn between a dummy and the real thing. He tries to pretend like he’s being playful, but he’s also stoking his kiln between smooches in preparation for a postcoital cremation.]

The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz” is available on a DVD set that also includes “Land Without Bread,” “The Young and the Damned” and “This Strange Passion.” It’s a great deal. I noted that the box and DVDs were prominently labeled region 2, but they played on two region 1 machines I tested. You can also wait for Criterion to put it out, which isn’t currently on their agenda, but they’ve gone on Bunuel-releasing rampages before (“Simon of the Desert” and “The Exterminating Angel” most recently). Personally, I find it comforting that there still remains many Bunuel films I’ve yet to experience and that it’s only a matter of time…*

Walrus Rating: 8.0

* Of course, if there are any distributers out there reading, I’d prefer sooner rather than later.

[Image: "I assure you that morbid sensation gave me a certain pleasure."]

Vampire Week Part 5

Rank: 15
Title: Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter
Director: Brian Clemen
Country: UK
Year: 1974
Review:
Despite a slew of better-known alternatives, my favorite vampire film out of Britain’s Hammer Studio has thus far been “Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter” (1974). It stars Horst Janson as the dashing, German captain of the title. After several young maidens get transformed into dry, brittle old-lady corpses the nearby English villagers become understandably upset. The curious deaths spur community leader Dr. Marcus to call in extra help. Kronos, a man who staked his own family after coming home from a military campaign and finding them “turned,” and his hunchbacked henchman Professor Grost are soon on the case.

Much of the film (particularly in the first two-thirds) is modeled off of the British mystery approach (with Kronos and Marcus/Grost as Holmes and Watson surrogates) meaning there’s more sleuthing and less action than audiences might expect. Kronos immediately diagnoses the town as having a bad case of youth-sucking vampirism and begins conducting interviews. Reports suggest that the monster terrorizing the region is very old, but the Captain notes that the vampire should be rather young by this time (having stolen so much life energy). As more children die, the vampire hunter falls back on his repertoire of esoteric paranormal investigation techniques like burying dead toads to monitor life-draining activity and forging a sword out of melted sacred relics. Though most imitators scrapped the investigative focus, Captain Kronos served as the prototype for many vampire hunter films to come including “Blade” and “Vampire Hunter D.”

Brian Clemens’s plot framework is actually good (not a Hammer hallmark), although his direction is not quite up to the same excellence. Keep an eye out for a western-style saloon scene where Clemens replaces the usual quick-draw gunfight with some flashing blades. The narrative packs an interesting mystery and a handful of unexpected twists and turns – unfortunately, too many are horded until the last fifteen minutes. The final scenes are standouts, with some long-awaited swordplay and a series of dark revelations.
The visuals are slightly above average for Hammer (which isn’t saying much), and the low budget is stretched intelligently to get in some good costumes and a few choice sets. The filmmaker gets plenty of mileage from the brooding, primal woodlands (the predominant backdrop) which manages to terrify and allure viewers and victims alike with the lingering sense of pagan rites and untainted wilderness.

Incidentally, Kronos rescues a beautiful gypsy woman named Carla who becomes a somewhat inconsequential love interest. Though conspicuously extraneous it helps that she’s played by Caroline Munro of “The Spy Who Loved Me” and “Star Crash” ‘fame.’


Rank: 14
Title: Blood and Roses (And to Die with Pleasure)
Director: Roger Vadim
Country: France
Year: 1960
Review:
Despite a twenty year head start on Bram Stoker’s novel, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s short story “Carmilla” has never had the cultural penetration of “Dracula.” That’s a shame, since Fanu’s prior vampire tale is an interesting story in its own right, but too often gets adapted into purely exploitive lesbian schlock. Thankfully, Vadim fosters the eroticism without losing the Victorian elegance and subtle atmosphere totally abandoned in films like “Lust for a Vampire” and “Lips of Blood.”

The plot is not particularly close to the original, but has a classically gothic romanticism of its own. Leopoldo De Karnstein is a rich descendant of former vampires (an onus long since eradicated during a zealous village uprising), who is engaged to the beautiful, impossibly naïve Georgia (Elsa Martinelli). Meanwhile his sister Carmilla (Annette Vadim) nurses her repressed love for him and undergoes mild trances that might be mere moodiness, but might be the telepathic hypnotism of her undead ancestor Millarca (notice the anagram?). A firework celebration for Leopoldo’s engagement sets up old German bombs at the family burial plot and exposes the hidden crypt where Millarca is buried. Her spirit lures Carmilla to her sarcophagus and then takes control of her body. Still behaving somewhat wistfully, the fused souls undertake a deadly gambit for Leopoldo’s love.

Except for Leopoldo’s wide-eyed frozen smile, the acting is fairly decent and possibly benefits from the stilted delivery and hesitant movements. Vadim is clearly more concerned with showing off the beauty of his cast (his favorite approach) than in refining their delivery, but he does well by not overtaxing their talent. The voices (especially Millarca’s breathy French-accented narration) and the antiquated piano melodies give the film a timeless grace and evocative tone. It helps that the visuals are composed with poetic serenity leveraging the reoccurring visual motif of Carmilla drifting through abbey ruins and dusk-dimmed forests wearing a faded wedding dress.

While noticeably light on the gore and horror, this film can work for sensitive viewers willing to immerse themselves in the feel and timbre of its presentation. The ethereal, other-worldly power of “Blood and Roses” is most intense during the firework display and its smoke-shrouded aftermath and in the impressive, surreal dream sequence near the end.

Rank: 13
Title: Les Vampires
Director: Louis Feuillade

Country: France

Year: 1915
Review:
Despite the title, this film is a bit of an iffy pick since it contains no actual vampires. Rather it follows the exploits of an evil French gang that goes by the name “The Vampires.” Nevertheless, the moniker is fitting, since the villains operate by night in skin-tight black outfits and invoke a surge of nationwide fear with their heinous, unstoppable crime wave. Indeed, there is something almost supernatural about their surreal resourcefulness which includes hypnotism, all manner of poisons and a cannon that emerges from a fake fireplace.

Our nominal protagonist, Philippe Guérande, is an investigative journalist who gains an unlikely sidekick in the form of Inspector Clouseau-like Oscar Mazamette. These two scant heroes tend to take a back seat in this film serial dominated by criminal masterminds, including the Grand Vampire, Venomous (the poison-brewing chemist extraordinaire), Satanas, Moreno (who heralds from a rival gang) and the infamous Irma Vep (whose name is a suspicious anagram).

Though a bit slow in patches (the crossover from 25 fps hurts it a little), the film is dripping with the mood of shadowy jewel thieves slipping into crafty disguises and creeping between dastardly cabals. The action is surprisingly adept (car chases in 1915!) and the plots and counterplots are pleasingly clever. The level of intrigue is often astounding: In any given group of five characters, four will be in disguise, three will be seeing through the disguises, two will be Vampires and one will have a bomb hidden in his top hat. This intertitle gives an idea of the fairly outrageous fun to be had:

“Enslaved by the hypnotic power of the bandito Moreno, his mistress Irma Vep murdered the fake Count Kerlor, actually the Grand Vampire.” But is he really dead? “Les Vampires” is not for everyone. As a silent film that runs nearly seven hours long (you heard me), it can be arduous for anyone. Don’t try watching it all in one go. The film predicts, but falls somewhat short of Fritz Lang’s gangster serials of the 1920’s like “Dr. Mabuse” and “Spies.” Try those vampire-less works first. “The Night Stalker” (1974) tried to update the premise of a journalist tracking vampires in the skeptical present of Las Vegas, but the made-for-TV movie fails to hold up to time despite the record setting ratings in its day.

Rank: 12
Title: Underworld
Director: Len Wiseman

Country: USA

Year: 2003
Review:
Terrible reviews met the release of “Underworld” in 2003, perhaps due to it slinking forth in the shadow of efforts like “Batman,” “Blade” and “The Matrix,” from which it clearly borrows heavily. Though it owes a great debt to those better efforts, Wiseman also adds other branches to the bloodline (namely power-driven gangland epics like “The Godfather” and the star-crossed family-feud literature like “Romeo and Juliet”), resulting in the birth of an interesting creature. If Underworld’s heritage is too much for it to live up to, it still comes through as highly engaging entertainment.

The setting is a rain-drenched, nightland of leftover Matrix sets and faux-gothic masonry. Amidst the urban milieu of a mostly-absent humanity are two warring races: Vampires and Lycanthropes (werewolves). Selene (Kate Beckinsale) is a top “Death Dealer” for the vampires, who have achieved an upper hand over the past few centuries. She works for Kraven, the regrettably whiny and annoying leader of the vampire clan, and carries out werewolf assassinations by night. She detects the stench of betrayal after discovering that her foes are better armed and more numerous than suspected. The intrigue only intensifies when she learns that the werewolves are led by Lucian, a werewolf allegedly killed by Kraven, and that they are stalking a human whose blood may hold the key to a new era.

The script is surprisingly elaborate and worthwhile for a blockbuster action movie; and I was surprised to see how much time and development went into it. There is so much back-story and backstabbing that the sense of moral ambiguity and societal collapse is quite palpable. Plot holes and loose ends hover in the alcoves, but rarely jump out to damage the sweeping story arc. The acting has just enough spine to shoulder the load, but Shane Brolly (as Kraven) and his enamored assistant (is puppy-love really so common amongst century-old warriors?) are painfully lame. Kate Beckinsale is unexpectedly well-suited to the role, bringing a lithe, leather-clad sexiness and a dark, brooding gravitas where most pop actresses wouldn’t have bothered.

Len Wiseman’s directing is questionable at times especially for being so visually derivative. While I can pretty much tolerate watching neo-noir and gothic environs getting recycled for eternity, he cribs exact shots from recent films and takes his iffy slow-mo gun-battles a little too seriously. Theft aside, I found the film irresistibly entertaining and watchable. Len Wiseman’s music video sensibilities aren’t always on the money, but his desire to have fun thankfully outpaces his desire to seem cool (although sometimes the race is close). It’s exactly the type of approach a vampire vs. werewolf movie needs, and it yields a well-balanced guy-movie.

A sequel and a planned prequel follow.

Rank: 11
Title: Cronos
Director: Guillermo del Toro

Country: Mexico

Year: 1993
Review:
Guillermo del Toro made his feature length debut with “Cronos,” (no relationship to Captain Cronos, Vampire Hunter) an unusual take on the origins of vampirism. Jesus Gris is a kind and moderate antiques dealer who looks after his granddaughter, Aurora. One day he breaks a strange statue and finds an even stranger golden crest. When it comes in contact with his skin, it attaches itself and stings him. Over the next few days he finds his youthfulness returning and is pleased that both his physical looks and former vivacity are restored. He soon becomes addicted to the golden treasure despite some dubious side-effects: a terrible craving for blood and an inability to die no matter what the bodily harm. Meanwhile, the wealthy Dieter de la Guardia is clutching desperately to life and sends his ruthless nephew (Ron Perlman) on a quest to procure the vampire device in a bid for eternal life.

Many of del Toro’s signature touches are apparent in this early effort. His humanist approach is apparent in the character development, which changes the tone of the horror to something deeply personal and moving. Jesus’s mixed motivations are exasperated by the temptation to recapture his youth and to hold on to life. This could be seen as not just for his own sake, but to look after his lonely granddaughter. Dieter’s lust for life is similar, but portrayed as more malevolent, and his nephew is caught in a position where he feels compelled to carry out his uncle’s orders but secretly wants him to die as soon as possible. This eventually clashes with the uncle’s “eternal life” agenda. Del Toro grounds us to the perspectives of an old man and a young child, forcing us to view life from both ends, and asking us to see the intrinsic benefits of its natural order. It is only in upsetting this order that leads to true tragedy.

An interesting touch is the idea of vampirism as explicitly parasitic. Indeed the magical golden amulet is given a grounding in reality (for the audience’s omniscient eyes only), though a shot that shows the clockwork mechanics of the inside and the presence of insect trapped inside that feeds on blood and excretes a “cure” for death. This shot is only one example of the playful, unexpected flow of camera movement and cinematography. The look of the film is quite distinct, with vivid colors contrasted with deep shadows (giving a slightly comic-book feel). The excellent application of rich colors, the memorable use of make-up (not for the villains so much as the good-guys) and the judicious injections of special effects make the film’s production values seem higher than they really are.

Though del Toro doesn’t get quite the performances he would conduct with “The Devil’s Backbone” or “Pan’s Labyrinth,” the cast does far outdo the standard set by horror movies. They are far from typical vampires and victims and the extra emotional depth, elicits genuine care and sympathy. The film still has its share of scares, gore and disturbing moments, but middle-brow viewers will appreciate the added emotional weight and thematic complexity.

Review of The Holy Mountain

Back in February, I made the odyssey to Chicago to catch a screening of “El Topo” (1971) and I wrote a brief review. The experience was well worth it and a real eye-opener for myself, then a film enthusiast who had only heard legends about the Mexican surrealist masterpiece. The Music Box Theater was also showing “The Holy Mountain” (1973), Alejandro Jodorowsky’s followup to his cult success, but I could not stay for the entire week what with school (darn, college getting in the way again). This weekend, Webster University, far closer to my home, finally theatrically aired “The Holy Mountain” (more than a month after the restored DVD release) and I had a chance to catch it on the scale it was meant to be experience in.

Sadly, the theater was almost barren, with a scant twenty or so showing up for the Saturday evening screening. I can only hope that most of St Louis has been too busy obsessively rewatching the DVD, for there is nary another excuse to miss the opportunity. I, too, have purchased the box set and will eventually grab some screen captures to augment this review, because you can’t really appreciate the work without seeing his powerful brand of imagery [Note: I was too lazy to take my own, but check out John's screenshots on The Grump Factory]. A description can not do it justice, but I will do my best.

The Thief (Horacio Salinas), who is covered with insects, awakens near a lake. He is swarmed by small children who attempt to stone him to death, but is saved by a quadriplegic midget. The two begin a meandering exploration of a Mexican city where he witnesses brutal totalitarian soldiers, mindless hedonistic tourists and the oppressed poverty of the masses. He makes money by participating in an ultra-violent re-enactment of the conquest of Mexico acted out by toads and lizards in elaborate period attire.

Eventually he meets a band of religious/military/commercial crucifix salesmen who trick him into drinking until he passes out. Capitalizing on his uncanny resemblance to Jesus, they cover his comatose body with wet plaster poured from the stomach cavity of a large hog. He awakens on a pile of potatoes surrounded by hundreds of his crucified likenesses, a vision that sends him into a fit of rage and madness. Finally, he takes one crucifix with him and stalks the city, picking up a following of uniformed prostitutes. Unable to convince a local bishop to accept the icon, he eats its waxen face and bequeaths it to the sky gods on a chariot of balloons.

The second segment begins with the descent of a hook from a tall orange tower in the city’s center. The thief is raised up by the lure and enters the rainbow painted hallway of The Alchemist, a man cloaked in white and wearing a strange white sombrero. He sits between two goats and is guarded by a naked woman covered in alchemical tattoos. The man (Alejandro Jodorowsky) turns out to be a powerful scientist/philosopher who defeats the thief in a knife fight and teaches him powerful secrets. The bulk of the second segment consists of introducing the thief to the seven most powerful persons in the world: a leisure goods manufacturer, an arms dealer, an art designer, a financial minister, a toymaker, a general and an architect. Together they plan to journey to the holy mountain, a sacred quest to replace the immortals who have ruled there for 40,000 years.

I won’t spoil much from the final segment; the training and the quest itself. The nine participants must overcome physical, mental and spiritual hurdles and resist temptation and fear. The ending is at once brilliant and anti-climatic, a sort of inevitable implosion/explosion of the grandiosity that has been steadily building for the full two hour length. I found it to be satisfying more on later reflection than in the moment of culmination.

Jodorowsky has claimed that his films attempt to bring the drug experience to the audience in a purely audio-visual format. The results can be so trippy, unstable and loaded with mysticism and symbolism as to repel the average viewer, but for fans of artistic exploration on the edge of the senses, few can beat Jodorowsky’s mind-blowing film craft.

An example. The horned toad and desert lizard re-enactment of Pizarro’s invasion and destruction of the Incan empire is envisioned with the type of sumptuous costumes and side-tracking camerawork usually reserved for sweeping war epics. The comical petting zoo tone turns grim when waves of blood wash over the miniature ziggurats and explosions level the city, sending dead amphibians and reptiles into the air. As a side note, those who don’t like to see animals killed or their corpses used for compositional value should probably avoid the film. Admittedly, I find it distasteful and unethical in general, but for Jodorowsky I can make an exception.

Other examples. The thief waking up in a potato factory is done with a back-dollying camera that slowly revealed the full scale of the Christ-style simulacrum is truly haunting and mesmerizing. A side-ways dolly catches the thief, mostly naked and bearing a knife in a fighter’s crouch, stalking through the rainbow colored strips of the alchemist’s vast chambers.

There is a giant cubic robot that must be “pleasured” with an enormous rod to reach orgasm. The result is not only an unfolding music-box/light-show extravaganza but also a cute cubic robo-baby.

There is a tree made out of dead chickens that recalls the rabbit pyre in “El Topo.”

There are lines like, “Your sacrifice completes my sanctuary of a thousand testicles” complete with a visual that will not shortchange your expectations.

Jodorowsky’s knows exactly how to maximize the visual impact of human flesh, arcane symbols and unusual architecture. He frequently uses religious iconography, exotic animals (both living and dead), oddly-postured nudity, bright color fields, endless duplications and the extremes of violence and sexual depravity. The camera seeks out strange symmetries or birds eye views that spin and fracture with kaleidoscopic electricity. His editing unsettles and unnerves by surprising, shocking, indulging, repelling and always inviting the audience to see the undeniable aesthetic power of even the grotesque and incoherent.

The plot, almost essentially, takes a backseat to the visuals. Likewise, the dialogue bows out to the synthy, exotic score by Jodorowsky, Don Cherry and Ronald Frangipane. Nevertheless there are plenty of quotable lines and no shortage of potential political satire and social commentary to discuss. Particularly full of critical allegory are the seven world-class movers and shakers; cruel manipulators and corrupt profiteers who abuse the public and indulge their every fetish.

To some extent, its tough to know how to respond to all the symbolism, metaphors, spiritual mumbo-jumbo and pretentious gibberish and no satisfying unifying theory seems to bring it all together. I would advice letting the mind zoom in and out of face-value aesthetic pleasure and deeper scholastic interpretations without forcing yourself to try and “understand” every narrative detail and choice of prop. Much of the joy in surrealism is found through giving the unconscious and subconscious a chance to come out and play. Certainly, much of “The Holy Mountain” is borrowed from the land of nightmares, sexual fantasies, primal fears, free association and distorted memories.

I’ve always been a fan of Luis Bunuel, a prolific Spanish surrealist who worked primarily before and at the dawning of Jodorowsky’s era. Bunuel’s work is more subtle and accessible (and more critically accepted) while Jodorowsky’s is more lush and unpredictable. There are oddities and atmospheric glitches that make us feel wonderfully off kilter or even alienated, but with the general sense that this is real life only one or two step removed. Even his strangest, “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie” (1972) and “Phantom of Liberty” (1974), are simple twists or inversions on reality compared to Jodorowsky. Bunuel’s is a parallel universe while Jodorowsky’s is a perpendicular realm, one much farther away than a mere trip down the rabbit hole or hop through the looking glass.

Check out the DVD boxset available on Amazon for the scandalously cheap price of $34. A most-own for any cultster anywhere.

Walrus Rating: 9

Review of El Topo

Last Friday I made the traditional pilgrimage of the film geek to another city (in this case Chicago) to see a midnight screening of “El Topo” (1971). Katie and I had time to briefly enjoy the parts of Chicago that were very near our hotel such as Millennium park with its ice sculptures and giant reflective bean. The Cloud Gate looked particularly suave with snow on the top where the reflection of clouds should be. We also caught the Chicago Art Institute for free and saw many of the works in my Modern Art course.

The highlight, needless to say, was “El Topo,” easily defeating the comparatively dull and uninspired sum of Western painting and sculpture from the past 150 years. With directing, writing and star performance by Chilean surrealist and former-mime Alejandro Jodorowsky, “El Topo” is a cult masterpiece.

Some background: When Jodorowsky made his film in 1970 there was no precedent for his brand of vivid insanity. His funding was difficult and he was unable to gain distribution until John Lennon declared it as his favorite movie after a private screening. Theater owners were convinced to show the film at midnight, so as not to interfere with their mainstream lineup, and thus the “midnight movie” was born. Rights issues tied up the 35mm print for 35 years making screenings rare and preventing a DVD release. In 2003 5-Minutes-to-Live ranked “El Topo” as the greatest cult film, above such classics as “Eraserhead” and “Spider Baby.” Newly restored for the current circuit, “El Topo” will probably make it to DVD in the near future.

Watch clips from Jodowsky’s movies at http://www.abkcofilms.com/. Do so now.

Plot summary with some spoilers below.

The title character, after forcing his nude real-life son to bury his teddy bear and a picture of his mother in the desert, returns to his village to find the denizens slaughtered. Sadistic, fetish-ridden banditos are the obvious cause and El Topo dispatches them with violent aplomb. Afterwards, at a Franciscan monastery, El Topo exchanges his son for a woman.

In the second part of the film, the woman convinces El Topo to wander the desert in search of the four “gun masters” and duel them. The quest takes many years and reaches new heights of bizarreness. Some of the amazing imagery includes a burning pyre made of rabbit corpses. In the end, the disenchanted and demoralized El Topo is betrayed and apparently killed.

In the film’s final part, El Topo awakens in a mountain after several decades of slumbering. He has become a part of the local messiah mythology for the band of deformed outcasts who dwell in the mountain. He climbs to freedom and vows to rescue his friends by earning money in the city, a den of outrageous corruption run by the disturbing Women’s Decency League. El Topo questions whether freedom is worth it if it means life in such a wretched world. After a series of revelations, tragedy befalls.

Walrus Rating: 9.5